Sound and Fury
by Once Upon a Faerytale
Summary: There is no conveniently forgotten book to distract Emma from being able to leave Storybrooke, and Henry is left to break the curse on his own, the only one willing or able to do so. But how much can one ten year old boy manage alone?
1. Chapter 1

**This-here's my little plot bunny, which flourished overnight from a vague one-shot idea to a fully-formed multi-chapter story. Let's hope I have the steam to see it through. :D **

**A/N: Edited Sept 7, '13 for grammar and spelling mistakes *blushes* **

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**~ Sound and Fury ~**

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A young boy scrambled up the stairs to his room, yanking open the curtains, tugging the window open as quietly as he could in his excitement. He had finally met his mother for the first time in his life, and he could never see her enough, never spend enough time picking out their similarities, their differences. She was new to it, with all her adult skepticism, and it would take time to help her realise the truth of what she needed to do. His glance moved from the front door to the Bug parked out the front, its bright yellow paint standing out against the dark, starkly shadowed asphalt.

He wanted to catch another glimpse of his (_real_) mother before she got back in her car, its bright yellow paint standing out against the darkly shadowed asphalt of the road.

The click and creak of a door opening drew the boy's gaze back to the source of the noise, and he observed his mum as she left the house, heels clicking on the pavement. The sounds, as if Storybrooke itself was talking to her, urging her to stay with its chatter, gave the dark-haired boy hope. He stared out, pale face peering from the upstairs room as the blonde woman glanced up at him, her red jacket bringing another welcome splash of colour to the cursed town.

Knowing it was rude to stare, he flashed an impish smile and scrambled for his bed, timber frame rattling home and curtain hooks _skreek_ing on curtain rail. The boy felt as though his whole body was humming, perhaps excitement, or nerves. Not that there was anything to be nervous about. Or maybe (as the thought occurred to the boy), just maybe, that humming, that tingling was the whisper of returning magic. Could the Evil Queen feel it, too? He felt so _alive_, like he'd never need, or want, to sleep again. He tugged up the covers of his bed, smiling the secret smile of one who had a scheme, as the yellow Bug rumbled to life. He had only met his Saviour-mum recently, but he knew she would see his book, return it to him, even if she did not believe in it yet.

He boy felt a slight squirm of guilt at deceiving his mother, but he had the feeling she'd appreciate his actions. She had to be a bit sneaky, too, finding runaway criminals.

The oh-so-deafening pounding of his heart seemed to suddenly stutter and stop in unison with the Bug. Quick. _Too_ quick, perhaps. She hadn't even started driving off. The boy hoped it was enough to touch her heart (he could see the walls behind her eyes, of course. He saw them in the mirror every day) enough to make her stay, enough to break the curse.

The click of heels on concrete (rewind it), and the boy had to nearly grab onto to mattress to stop himself racing downstairs. _She_ would get the book! Trying (and failing) to quell his panic, he had to repeatedly remind himself that the last (most important) pages were gone. They had been removed the moment the boy knew they were talking about his mum. The Evil Queen knew all the rest, anyway. Somehow it didn't make him feel better. Emma's (his mother's) voice, then Regina's (_not_) drifted up the stairs, a muffled tangle of indistinguishable words. The boy, Henry, wondered what the Evil Queen thought, wether (how quickly) she would read the story, if she would give it back, or just ask probing questions. He hoped his actions were enough, though, he _really_ hoped.

_Please stay. Please._

Emma's footsteps on the concrete again, leaving (just stay, stay, _stay_). Something dark and wild clawed at his lungs, stealing his breath with a strangled gasp. The engine rumbled to life, and the vehicle, and its awaited driver, drove away (if he didn't look, he could imagine he was simply imagining that slowly fading noise).

There was still time. He didn't want to be stuck here anymore, the only one again, each year of friends slipping away behind him. She couldn't leave Storybrooke. (She was, really, the only one who could, but he _didn't want her to_.)

He waited, the agonisingly teetering battle between despair and hope keeping him awake. Regina was still downstairs. He needed that book back. It was Truth. He needed it to help Emma (because she had to come back).

Eventually, the two fierce competitors wearing down, Sleep took control and dragged him under.

It was perhaps two hours later, to his muddled brain's best guess, when he heard Regina's feet on the stairs. He burrowed deeper under the covers, thinking sleepy thoughts. She placed the book on his bedside table (she really gave it back?) and paused. He watched her shadow, thrown onto the wall in front of his hidden face, as she bent and placed a kiss on his hair. With a murmured, "Goodnight, Henry," she backed out, closing off the light.

When he was sure she was gone, Henry lifted a hand to feel for the book, the terror (_pre-adventure jitters_) uncurling within him and suffusing his limbs with weak relief. It was still here. Ready for Emma. Smiling with the reclaimed hope, Henry slipped into unconsciousness, surrendering to the mindless passing of darkened hours before the new day.

~O~

Rather predictably, Henry's first waking thoughts were of Emma. He hauled himself from bed, dressing and taking the storybook to cradle it in his arms. He pulled a seat over to the window, leaning on the sill to stare out across the town. He glanced at the clock tower, so full of certainty it took a moment for him to realise it had _not_, in fact, moved (_what?_). Henry froze as ice trickled through his veins, a cold hollowness in his chest. He had to check that she was still here. How could she leave, when she was the one to break the curse?

He hurriedly pulled on his shoes, and nearly forgot his schoolbag (there's school today? Without Emma?) as he tore down the stairs, ready to pelt down the street. He knew he would have a better chance of seeing her that way than if the Evil Queen drove him. He had reached the front room, the door in sight, when the voice interrupted him.

"Henry, dear, where are you going?"

_No, not now_. He scudded to a halt, shoes squeaking on the expensive floor. Henry turned with studied care, frantically wiping any trace of expression from his face. The Queen stood there, her crisp black suit a contrast to the feminine, provocative gowns he knew she used to wear. Her face spoke of genial curiosity, but her eyes screamed frustration and impatience (and perhaps a note of apprehension. He _knew_, of course).

"Walking to school. I don't want to be late."

"Don't be ridiculous, I'll drive you. No "but"s. I want to talk to you, Henry."

Henry considered just running for the door, but his bag was bulky and his legs shorter than hers. He sighed, nodded in acquiescence, and trudged towards the door. She followed him out, pushing an energy bar into his hands as she slipped into the driver's seat. He pulled the door closed behind him, the revving engine reminding him of Emma's own Bug. He wouldn't get the same chance to see her now, but it was a small town, _especially_ compared to Boston.

Regina pulled out, letting an expectant silence pool between them as she drove to school. Henry watched the scenery pass by, waving to Miss Blanchard (_Snow White_) on her own way to the school. He saw Ruby (Red) setting out the Diner sign, her trademark scarlet-centred clothes reminding him of Emma's own jacket. Maybe she was already in the Diner, drinking hot cocoa with cinnamon (they'd _always_ find each other, and then they'd all drink hot cocoa with cinnamon). He'd introduce her to Miss Blanchard first thing.

The car idling to a stop pulled Henry out of his musings. He twisted in his seat to look at Regina, waiting for her to speak.

"Now, Henry. Your… Emma told me about your storybook. That you think we're all characters from it. That you think that I'm the Evil Queen."

"But it's the truth! You cursed everyone here, because you blamed Snow White for Daniel's death." A little voice shouted, _Don't tip her off!_ at Henry, but the words were already out. Regina flinched as if he had slapped her, eyes widening with pain and anger before the cool mask slid into place once again.

"_Henry_. I am _not_ evil. Where did these notions come from? Now, I've booked you in for another session with Doctor Hopper this afternoon, so be waiting here after school to be picked up. I'll see you then." The last was spoken with a tone Henry imagined she used when she condemned people to her dungeon; promise, threat and contemptuous dismissal all in one. He grudgingly stepped out, shouldering his bag, the extra weight of the book reassuring, like it was tethering him to the ground, to the knowledge that he was on the right track. He'd gotten Emma here, after all (he'd just wait 'til this afternoon to see her).

He gave a perfunctory wave to the Queen as he turned to the school, walking over to the newly arrived Miss Blanchard with a wide grin.

"Hey, Miss Blanchard."

"Henry! Hello to you, as well. Is that smile just for me? I didn't think you enjoyed schoolthat much."

Of course. Miss Blanchard hadn't met Emma yet. Even if they weren't mother and daughter, Henry thought Miss Blanchard would get along with Emma. _Everyone_ got along with Miss Blanchard (except the Evil Queen. And King George).

"I met my mum!" Miss Blanchard stared at him, and he could see the confusion start to unfurl on her face, "My real mum, I mean. Emma." If he had been hopeful the name would touch something of Snow buried inside, he was disappointed. Mary Margaret smiled in faint relief (he supposed he couldn't really blame her for her it, replaying his own words) but otherwise didn't react.

"Is she in town?"

"Yep. You want to know a secret?" Miss Blanchard leaned down obligingly, and Henry cupped his hands over her ear, lowering his voice even further, "She's going to help me with Operation Cobra."

"What's Operation Cobra?" Well, Henry had forgotten no one else knew about Cobra.

"Oh! I'm really sorry, Miss Blanchard, I can't tell you. Not yet. You'll find out eventually, though. I promise." Everyone would still remember their false lives once they remembered their real ones, right? Henry hoped so. In case they kept both sets, he gave her a quick hug, releasing the surprised teacher before she could return it.

"Thanks_ so_ much for the storybook, Miss Blanchard. It's really cool."

Before the bemused schoolteacher could reply, the bell for the start of class rang, startling them both. Miss Blanchard shuffled him off to class, following him in and making sure everyone was seated before closing the door and calling roll.

As usual, Henry say by himself at recess and lunch, but he had the book to occupy him, so the familiar sting wasn't as bad. He flipped through the pages, eyes unfocussing as he sought to place the somewhat vague renditions with faces he had seen around town, the inked-in scenery fading away. He alternated between guessing names and reading the accompanying stories.

He was about to turn a page when a _thock_ing sort of noise startled him, a fuzzy yellow tennis ball rebounding off the metal bench seat he sat on. A boy ran up to him, giving him (_madam mayor's son_) an uneasy glance before snatching the ball mid-bounce, running back to his friends and telling them off for nearly hitting "the mayor's kid". Ouch. Henry though the ball would have hurt less, but then Regina would still get annoyed at whoever kid was responsible. Henry resolutely turned back to his new page, taking in the image of the dark-haired boy, head bowed and sitting alone by a river stream but for a prettily cloaked girl half-hidden behind a mossy tree trunk. He read the picture's caption, bracketed by fanciful curlicues below the image: _The village children, whose parents feared the Dark One, were told never to approach his son, lest they deliver him some unforgiveable injury in play. Only Moraine, rescued from facing the Ogres in combat, would dare to approach Baelfire._

Henry wondered who Baelfire was in Storybrooke, if he had had time to grow up before the Dark Curse hit. He flipped through the pages, eyes skimming the words eagerly, coming to rest on the story's final image; that of the Dark One, Dagger drawn, swearing to find his lost son. Such devotion made Henry smile (Emma and he found each other, too), but he was forced to pack the book away for the afternoon class.

As he closed the zip of his bag, he saw the hard plastic rectangle of Miss Blanchard's credit card in its little pocket, the sight bringing with it the original guilt of having stolen it. He was saving her, reuniting mother and daughter (mother and son), but he still determined to return it before his session with Archie.

"Miss Blanchard?" Now that school had ended, and his appointed time had come, he was feeling distinctly queasy. He _had_ committed a crime, after all (had stolen from his _grandmother_) and was only now confessing to it.

"Yes, Henry? What can I help you with?" Miss Blanchard collected books from desks, straightening everything out as the last students left, eager to see the back of the dreaded building.

"Uh…" (and this was a lot harder than he thought it would be) "Isortastoleyourcreditcardandusedittofindmymother. " Miss Blanchard turned to look at him frankly, setting the books down to give him her whole attention. And now he could see the steely determination Snow White was known for (even if it was hiding itself as motherly concern).

"Pardon?"

"I took your credit card. I'm sorry! I just wanted to find my mum, and I needed money to do it, and Regina wouldnt've let me. Here," Henry held out the card with fingers that trembled. Miss Blanchard took the card and glanced over it before slipping it into the pocket of her pants.

"I didn't even know it was missing," she murmured to herself, gaze shifting inwards. She seemed to shake herself, then looked at Henry once more, wry respect in her eyes. "Clever boy."

"I'm really sorry, Miss Blanchard."

"It's alright, Henry. But maybe you could introduce us? Since you've probably convinced her to stay for a while." Henry hadn't realised he was holding his breath, and it _whoosh_ed out of him, bringing a rush of dizziness (and maybe the relief played a bigger part than he allowed. A prince needed to be brave, but he certainly didn't feel like it). Miss Blanchard caught him by the shoulders, and he blinked oddly sleepy eyes at her. She helped him lean against her desk, legs straight out in front of him.

"Hey, are you sure you'll be fine? Sit down, I'll… I'll see if Regina is outside, tell her you aren't feeling well." Henry sprang up from his position on the floor. He ignored the still-shimmering linoleum squares to grab his bag and swing it onto his shoulders. He didn't want Regina blaming Miss Blanchard (which she's assuredly do) and he wanted to go to his meeting. Emma would need more help with Operation Cobra than just him.

"No, it's okay. I want to talk to Jiminy- Doctor Hopper. I'll go." He shrugged off Miss Blanchard's unsure murmur, smiling at her as she smoothed his ruffled hair almost unconsciously, adjusting his collar.

"See you tomorrow, then, Henry." Miss Blanchard waved goodbye to him, picking up the books and wrapping her arms securely around them. Henry waved back as he ducked out the door, feet thudding along the empty hallways. He pictured her face, caring and worried despite his words (for what they were worth from his ten year old self) and with the teasing hints of his own features. No one would notice them if they weren't looking for them, but they were there, in the chin, the nose, the gleam of their eyes. Henry wrapped that secret happiness inside him, sliding into the seat beside Regina, puffing only slightly. She was frowning, glancing suspiciously from him to the school's open hallway.

"What held you up?"

"I dropped my pencilcase and needed to pick everything up again."

Regina gave a disapproving hum. "Be more careful next time. I'll pick you up from Doctor Hopper's in an hour, okay? I just want you to see the _truth_." Henry noticed the mimicking of his earlier words, but said nothing.

The Evil Queen left Henry with a stern glance before Dr. Hopper had even opened the door. He entered, glancing around at the too-familiar room and taking his customary seat on the lounge perpendicular to Dr. Hopper's seat. He studied the man's face as he spoke to Henry of the purpose of fairytales as important moral guides_, stories _used to entertain and educate. Henry sighed as Dr. Hopper once again spoke the phrase, "your mother is very worried," and concluded that he was not yet (quite) ready to join Operation Cobra. He and Emma would have to wake him up a bit more before that could happen.

Emma. Henry's earlier patience had frayed almost the moment he walked in Dr. Hopper's door, and he was near to wriggling in his seat like an excited puppy to see her again. He felt that same buzzing anticipation of the night before, and knew that _this_ was the beginning of _his_ adventure (he was the hero this time).

Henry spoke the words Regina wanted to hear (a difference from the usual) and left as soon as he could (completely normal). Regina had told him he could wander for a few hours, maybe find Emma. Henry found that suspicious, but maybe she wanted private time to organise the running of the town with Sheriff Graham (somehow he doubted it involved a memorial to her murdered True Love. He wasn't stupid).

The first, and best, place to look was Granny's diner. It was the only one in town, and Ruby made delicious cinnamon hot cocoas. He could look for Emma on the way there, for her distinctive yellow Bug.

Fifteen minutes and no yellow Bug later, the diner's hanging bell chimed as he pushed open the door, the diner greeting him with empty silence.

"Hey, there, Henry. Can I get you anything?" (Red as a) Ruby swanned over, short apron fully coving short shorts, shirt tied over her bare stomach. The highlights in her hair framed her face like Henry imagined her cloak had done, but he hoped Red was more open with him (_madam mayor's son_) when she knew who he was.

"I'll have a cinnamon hot cocoa." He hopped into one of the plush seats just as Miss Blanchard entered, expression harried. He waved her over, and saw Ruby swipe another mug, preparing a drink identical to his. Miss Blanchard's face brightened when she saw him, and she sat down opposite him.

"Hello, Henry. Does your mother know you're here?"

"She's still in her meeting with Graham. So I came here to see if Emma's been here." Before Miss Blanchard could reply, Ruby came over and deposited the drinks in front of each of them. Henry had discovered they both liked cinnamon in their hot cocoa on his eighth birthday, when he'd been sitting alone (before the book) and Miss Blanchard had snuck him out of school for a birthday treat, even though she hadn't been his teacher then.

Henry turned to the young woman, "Hey, Ruby, have you seen a woman come through here today? She's got blonde hair, blue eyes and she was wearing a red jacket."

"A stranger in Storybrooke?" Ruby sounded intrigued (even under the curse people would know no-one ever visited), but shook her head. "If she's in town, I haven't seen her." Henry deflated almost with an audible hiss of air. He thanked her anyway, for answering and for the drinks, and she headed back to the bar to stare at a world map she'd pinned to the wall. She hummed absentmindedly, the tune unfamiliar. He supposed Storybrooke could be pretty boring (the town had _nothing_ on Fairytale Land), but the curse stopped her from leaving.

"Henry…" He turned at Miss Blanchard's hesitant murmur.

"Maybe… Maybe she's gone. Did she actually tell you she's be staying?"

"No." Henry dragged the answer out reluctantly, trying to wish it different, "Butshe _has _to!"

"Just because we are supposed to do something doesn't mean we will." Miss Blanchard said gently, then hesitated, "I mean, I'm not supposed to be seeing you out of school, but we're talking now, aren't we?" Henry frowned. When did that happen? Did _she_ have anything to do with it? Henry asked her, hearing the note of anger running through his voice. Miss Blanchard smiled unconvincingly and shook her head. Thankfully, she didn't try to give a reason why (he would've seen through it, and she knew that).

They finished their cocoas in silence after that, keeping their thoughts to themselves. Miss Blanchard insisted on paying for them both (but Henry still left Ruby his own tip) and the left the still-empty diner together, Miss Blanchard wrapping her coat further around herself as the cool evening air hit them. Miss Blanchard glanced at her watch and frowned, glancing up and down the street.

"It's nearly five. Shouldn't your mother be wondering where you are?" Henry noticed the _should_, rather than the _would_. Emma's superpower might be spotting the spoken lies, but Henry's was spotting the unspoken truths. He knew Miss Blanchard didn't think Regina was a good mother, like he knew Emma only wanted the best for him, and Archie couldn't help that the curse made him scared to be good.

"She doesn't mind. As long as I'm home before dark she's okay with it." (Especially if she's in a meeting with Graham). Miss Blanchard frowned as if she had heard his thoughts (he liked that about the two of them. He liked the thought of _them_) and brushed her short fringe out of her face.

"Are you sure? Of course you are. Never mind me, but think a bit about what I said. About Emma. She might not want to take you away from your mother. Or maybe she hasn't got the money to look after you yet. She might not even be legally allowed to look after you." Henry smiled (and maybe she didn't want him. But he saw that she did, so it was okay. Really), but didn't correct her. He took a step back from his Emma Problem (he's need a codename) to look at Miss Blanchard, his grandmother. She didn't look it, but sometimes she acted like it, even if she didn't remember. He was hit with a sudden, dizzying affection for her. Even with her meek curse-self and Regina's threats, she still dared to spend time with him. He gave her another quick hug like he had that morning, hiding suspiciously wet eyes.

"Bye Miss Blanchard." He forced out, giving a jerky wave and praying that she didn't hear the warble in his too-tight throat. She gave a half-hearted wave in return, and Henry caught her concerned gaze as he spun and headed at a run in the direction of his house.

When he got there his eyes were mostly dry and he thought he would be able to carry on a conversation without choking up, but he still ducked into his room with nothing more than a quick hello to Regina and Graham, sitting on the lounges in her study and talking casually over glasses of dark red wine.

He abandoned his bag to the floor and dug the liberated story pages from his hiding spot. They were slipped behind the mirror of his wardrobe, where he had found a thin gap between glass and timber, just big enough for the pages. He lay on his bad and grasped them with shaking fingers, eyes drinking in the images of baby Emma with her blanket, the words describing the desperate flight from birthing room to wardrobe, and Charming (grampa) being cut down.

He stayed in his room all night, claiming tiredness when the Evil Queen called him for dinner. It was only a _bit_ of a lie. He was tired, but it was only of the lies she fed him. She left him to rest, cautioning him that he would have two days homework the next day if he went to sleep now. He ignored that. Miss Blanchard would forgive him one day, he was sure.

Eventually, after he had watched the sun set and the moon rise and heard the silence descend (there should be crickets), Regina came in, giving him a goodnight kiss on the cheek while he pretended to sleep. Eventually, even the sounds of her moving around tapered off, and he was left with only his breath to tell him he had any sense of hearing at all.

He failed to sleep at all that night. In the morning Emma was still gone.

~O~

A week passed with little sleep and less Emma, and finally Henry had to admit the truth.

Emma was gone, and she wasn't coming back.

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**Reviews = Love!**


	2. In which Henry makes a deal with Gold

**New Chapter! Sorry it took so long, the plot just jumped the rails and took a new, and better, direction that I decided to follow.**

**~ In which Henry makes a deal with Gold ~**

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"It had long since come to my attention that people of accomplishment rarely sat back and let things happen to them. They went out and happened to things." ― Leonardo da Vinci

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For a week after he realised Emma wasn't going to return, Henry's world narrowed to that one fact (She. Wasn't. Coming. Back.). He moved through his days and nights listlessly, his appetite fled (with Emma), his sleep coming in fits and starts when it came at all. He spoke sullenly and reluctantly to even Miss Blanchard until she stopped greeting him in the mornings, and he sat in awful silence as Dr. Hopper tried to get a response from him. He knew he worried his mother, but she'd been the one to run his other mother off. It had_ nothing_ to do with Emma herself (if he told himself that enough, maybe he might start to believe it).

On the eighth morning, Regina had tried to take The Book from him. He'd faked a tantrum, clinging to the heavy cover and barely having to force the tears at all. She had surrendered it as quickly as he had suspected she would; they were out the front of the school where everybody could see (it was worth it, though).

On the eighth night, lying still in his usual sleeplessness, he caught Regina trying to steal The Book. He shifted as if he were waking, and Regina had pulled back and left the room. He'd had even less sleep that night, dreaming of grasping, manicured hands and pages being blown away in the wind, swirling into a sky filled with roiling purple smoke.

The next morning Henry woke up and determined to act like he had. He gathered his pocket money and left super-early for school, sneaking down to the Storybrooke General Store before Regina had left her room.

The sky was clear and blue as it ever was, and Henry felt as if the good weather was affirming his decision to take charge. He entered the Store and greeted Mr. Clarke politely, running through his mind everything he would need to gather for the project. He passed over the alluring gleam of scratchies at the counter, past the glossy magazines in their neat rows, deeper into the store until he reached the very back.

There he beheld the metal racks and timber cubbies that held the stationary supplies, each colour of card and paper separated, fifty different types of pens and pencils clustered together. Henry riffled through his allowance, counting the large wad of notes (being _madam mayor's son_ did have some perks). He gathered up translucent tracing paper, rich forest green card and writing paper, creamy and unlined. He selected a fine felt tip pen and a pacer with replacement leads.

Mr. Clark gave him an odd look (after the obligatory sneeze) but hesitated to question him (_madam mayor's son_) being out of school as he handed over the notes. Henry rolled up the card and hid it in his bag, careful not to crumple it.

Henry snuck into school just as the bell rang, strident tones echoing out into the courtyard. He avoided Miss Blanchard's questing gaze and rushed to the back of the line with the rest of his class. Time passed in an eager blur, his mind coordinating how he would go about replicating The Book. He was almost surprised when the final bell rang and it was time to go home.

When he got home, Regina was waiting for him, hands folded in front of her. It reminded Henry of the way Mr. Gold leaned on his cane as he denied someone a loan extension; relaxed and eager to assert his authority, confident in the knowledge there would be no continued opposition.

"You left early today." Not a question.

"Yeah… I wanted to get to school early, so I could talk to Miss Blanchard about our book report." Regina frowned, and Henry wondered whether she could read his thoughts, because he could read hers.

"It's not about that silly storybook, it is, Henry?"

"It's _not_ silly."

"Yes, it is. Those stories aren't real, and you have to just let them go." (_Never) _Henry didn't bother to reply, but broke abruptly from his position, unconsciously mirroring Regina's (he was_ nothing_ like her), to storm up the stairs to his room, remembering at the last moment not to slam the door. She didn't want him breaking the curse (feared him). He _knew_, and he wasn't caught up in the Curse's effects. He was the only one who could, who would, do anything (he resolutely _didn't_ think of Emma leaving, and nearly succeeded). It was up to him to fix this, and he _would _free everyone.

Grumpy mood evaporating in the excitement of _doing_ something, he pulled out The Book and his quest items, arraying them over his desk in a haphazard smear. Henry mentally pushed the stories themselves out of the way; it would be faster and easier to complete the drawings first, and they would provide the gist of the story if something (Regina) happened and he wasn't able to complete it. Henry opened The Book to the first image (a young Regina on her chestnut horse) and laid the tracing paper over it, carefully clicking the pacer once and pressing it to the surface. He began to faithfully follow the lines of the drawing, letting his mind sink into the relaxing mentality of knowing he followed the best possible course of action.

~O~

It was four months before Henry finished duplicating The Book. Each carefully typed word, each lovingly coloured tracing, each story captured identically (but still adding something of himself to the tales, in keeping them alive). The sense of completion left him floating on clouds for weeks, even though he had had to stop every other hobby he had and discontinue talking to his few friends (it was lucky he had so few). He had even re-added Emma's story, all the pages wrapped together in the green card, the new book's face carefully titled by Miss Blanchard in golden paint. He left the second edition in her care, explaining that he wanted a backup in case his was lost (stolen).

~O~

That Saturday Henry took off early for the Castle, feeling the cool breeze bluster across his face and whip his scarf crazily about his head. The wind whistled and snatched up secrets from the Castle as it passed through the timbers (Henry could hear the whispers, stories of the citizens calling out to be heard). Miss Blanchard was already sitting there, legs swinging idly and knitted cap protecting her short hair from the breeze (Henry preferred it to the long tresses Snow White bore, but he didn't think he'd ever tell Snow that).

Her entire face brightened when she spotted him emerging from the trees, and she started up, striding confidently towards him like she did every Saturday. When Henry caught up with her, she extended her arms (Henry thought she was going to hug him) and gave an odd twitch before they connected, placing her hands on his shoulders and giving a welcoming squeeze (she was still his teacher, so impersonal).

"Hello Henry."

"Hey Miss Blan- Mary Margaret." Miss Blanchard had told him she wasn't his teacher outside of class, but he still had trouble switching between names so readily. He didn't want to slip up at school. Miss Blanchard smiled oddly (a little guilty, a little excited) and Henry climbed eagerly onto the platform, Miss Blanchard following after.

"What's wrong?" Miss Blanchard raised her eyebrows in surprise, but shook her head, exhaling with a nervous titter.

"Nothing's wrong, Henry. I'm fine." She smiled with genuine happiness, so Henry shrugged it off (he'd investigate if she kept it up) and pulled out The Book, First Edition. Miss Blanchard leaned over his shoulder to stare at the cover with him, both contemplating the arduous task ahead.

Ever since Emma had left, Henry had been determined to uncover the identities of every citizen of Storybrooke, so he knew who he was helping. His two biggest problems were Prince Charming, and Mr. Gold. He didn't even know if his grandfather had survived, but he hoped so (oh, how he dearly wished it). Mr Gold was an enigma, though. There were no harsh landowners in Fairy Tale Land, nor antique pawnbrokers nor lawyers nor limping men with Scottish accents. Not even one! Miss Blanchard was as baffled as he was (and she was a _teacher_!). They had planned to make a proper list of every character and their Storybrooke counterpart today, so that they might match up the leftover names and maybe find their answers. Miss Blanchard drew out the special notebook dedicated to Operation Cobra, handing it to Henry along with a pen. He had drawn a cobra, coiled body raised and hood open, on the cover, and was very proud of it. He thumbed past the unorganised notes, grinning when he skimmed over the boxes and lines that had meant to become a family tree (they'd postponed that indefinitely when Henry realised Emma was technically his niece), stopping on the next blank page. He drew a line down the middle, and he and Miss Blanchard began to fill in the names of Storybrooke citizens.

Although Miss Blanchard was prevented from becoming aware that the curse she was under really existed, she was happy to help Henry write endless notes on The Book. She seemed to enjoy the break from her lonely schoolteacher's life. Dr. Hopper had slowly begun trying to help Henry "differentiate truth from fiction" with more severity of late, and Henry clung on even harder, forever grateful that he had Miss Blanchard's unwavering support.

For the next few hours they talked and joked and matched names, the connections coming easily to them after months of familiarity. It was nearly midday, and they were no closer to Mr. Gold's identity, when Miss Blanchard glanced at her watch and stifled a gasp, concern (almost horror) flickering over her face.

"Mary Margaret?" He couldn't ignore it this time. The woman in question shot a panicky, guilty look at him.

"Your mother wanted you back home in time for lunch."

"Why?"

"She… Uh, she wanted to talk to you about the storybook again. And, and have lunch with you, too." Henry scowled and packed everything away with more force than absolutely necessary, while Miss Blanchard watched him anxiously. It was just like the Evil Queen to take away his time with Snow White. She had probably planned it on purpose, making Miss Blanchard tell him herself (she was vindictive enough for it). He sighed as he shouldered the bag, feet dragging along the sand beneath the Castle.

"Did she force you to do this?"

"Henry. She just likes spending time with her son. Any mother would." Her voice sounded unsure, and curled up at the end like a question (_he_ wanted to spend time with his _grandmother_, though).

Miss Blanchard offered to drive him home in a subdued voice, and he accepted just as despondently. They rode in silence, both lamenting their lost afternoon. Henry watched the houses flash past, hypnotic in their quaint small-town monotony. They reached the smartly walled block just as the digital clock flicked over to display 12:00. Miss Blanchard let a moment of awkward, regretful silence take the place of the car's engine before she spoke, the words dragged out of her with the greatest reluctance.

"I hope you enjoy your lunch, Henry. You can tell me about it tomorrow." Henry was puzzled by the sad, closed-off look in Miss Blanchard's eyes, even though her mouth smiled.

"Aren't you coming in?"

Miss Blanchard shook her head, "I don't think I'll be welcome." Henry frowned (it was his house, too). He'd invite her in anyway, even if Regina didn't want her to. He stepped onto the road and rounded the car, opening Miss Blanchard's door for her.

"You can come, too, if you like. The Evil Queen can't stop you being my _friend_." Miss Blanchard got out and closed the door with some trepidation. Henry grabbed her hand reassuringly, and they shared a quick smile; hers hesitant, his resolute. Together, they marched up to the front door, prepared for Regina's displeasure (and she_ would_ be displeased).

Henry turned the gleaming handle, struck with the sudden thought that he had forgotten something (it was_ important_), making his hand falter. He brushed it aside, gathered his thoughts and pushed open the door, pulling Miss Blanchard in after him.

The wall of sound hit him first. His hands jumped to his mouth, smothering any noise he might have made. His shocked brain next registered the colour, and the sheer amount of people. Finally the source of the noise caught him, and he dimly heard the "Surprise!" that was shouted (His_ birthday._ Right). Suddenly Miss Blanchard's confusing actions at the Castle made sense. And Regina hadn't wanted to invite her! He was quickly swept up in a crushing hug, Regina's perfume tickling his nose (something generically floral; informal and friendly and masking the sour heart beneath), before being allowed to stagger back into Miss Blanchard's steady grip.

"What?" Regina gave him a smile, enjoying his honest surprise (that was the point of a surprise party, he supposed) before she caught sight of Miss Blanchard and her grin deflated like one of the brightly coloured balloons hung around the room, eyed growing cold. She ushered Henry perfunctorily into the kitchen, where the flood of guests was already headed (he noticed his classmates and a few of the more important adults in town). He tried to stay with Miss Blanchard, but Paige grabbed his hand with a shy smile and he was obliged to follow. A last glance back showed Regina standing over Miss Blanchard, much too close for comfort, and the look of hopeless defeat on his teacher's face made him ache for her.

As he was crowded around the pile of gaily wrapped gifts, Henry reflected that the current situation was a vast difference from his usual birthday celebrations. For every year that he could remember, he would unwrap his presents in the morning, go to school (if it was a schoolday) and then he would get to pick what he wanted for dinner. His earlier shock had worn off and (despite the omission of Miss Blanchard) he thought it would be easy to enjoy this new tradition, if tradition it became. Henry passed around each toy, game or book as he unwrapped them, leaving his classmates to _ooh_ and _ahh_ over everything. Regina returned as he opened the last present (a fancy silver watch from Mr. Gold, who Regina had invited. Or maybe he'd just heard and decided to gatecrash), mouth curved into a satisfied smile. He couldn't confront her with so many people about, so he blatantly ignored her in favour of ferrying his bag and presents to his room. Paige stood up to help him and they made their way upstairs, both their arms full of gifts. Seeing Paige's father give her an approving smile made Henry wonder about her (_Grace's_) real father, the Mad Hatter. Another unknown. Henry suddenly had the brief (insane) thought that Mr. Gold _was_ the Hatter, but discarded it when he realised nothing about them matched.

Paige stared unabashedly about his room as she entered, seeming surprised at the simple children's mess cluttered around (he'd had a go at cleaning it yesterday, so it wasn't as bad as usual).

"This is your room?"

"Yeah," Henry replied as they unceremoniously heaped the presents onto his doona. "doesn't look much like the rest of my mum's house, does it?" Paige laughed at his comment, and he realised Gold could have never been her father. They surveyed the colourful toys, matching the bright child's room they were in, before leaving for the kitchen again. Henry felt good (in a bad way) that there was another child separated from their parent by the Curse, because it made him feel a little bit less alone than he had been, even if Paige didn't realise what had happened.

The rest of the afternoon was filled with cake and party games (he loved Pass the Parcel best) and a piñata, which was finally broken by Paige, showering herself with candy and lollipops. It was late afternoon (the party was apparently scheduled to pass through lunch_ and_ dinner) when Henry finally concluded he's had more sugar that day than in all of the past year combined, and backed away from the table, wary of making himself sick. Most of the other children had begun a game of tips outside, and were gleefully racing around the trees in Regina's orchard, two of the more adventurous boys having even swung themselves into the branches to escape. With a pang, Henry realised his birthday meant that he would son be starting a new year again. It was one of the first things that had irked him about Storybrooke, the fact that his friends had to stay behind each year, while he moved on. He wondered how the Evil Queen had though she would explain _that_ one to her son.

Henry's musings on the Curse were interrupted by someone moving to sit in the flimsy plastic chair beside him. He glanced up in surprise at Mr. Gold's trademark cane, his leg stretched out in front of him. He wondered idly what Mr. Gold's first name was, bemused to realise he had never heard anyone, even Regina, call him by it.

"You're not out playing with the other children? Seems like something of a waste to bring them all over here, then."

"They like it, so it's not too bad."

"And the extra presents wouldn't hurt either, right?" Henry turned to look at Mr. Gold, curious as to why he'd bother to sit by him (son of his well-known power rival). Why he'd even come to the party.

"Did Regina invite you?" Whoops, he probably should have called her mum. Gold chuckled, as if Henry had told a joke.

"Do I really seem like the sort to turn up uninvited?" _No_, then (a non-answer was a denial, because Henry had realised a while ago that Gold never lied, not really). Henry felt a smug smile form on his face, his guess confirmed. In the background, Regina glanced over at them from her spot with the other parents, fruit punch held in a wine glass, irritation showing between the momentary cracks in her pleasant mask (it seemed there were plenty of unwanted guests turning up). The two fell into companionable contemplation for a few moments before Henry spoke up again, unable to rein in his curiosity (he was glad he wasn't a cat).

"Why are you here? Taking to me, I mean."

"Merely sharing the company of the birthday boy is not reason enough?" Henry doubted Mr. Gold spoke to people for the sake of it. "Perhaps I wish to make a deal." Henry perked up at that. He was good at noticing inconsistencies (he'd noticed the Curse, after all) and was sure he'd be able to at least get a deal between them evenly weighted. Not that he wasn't still wary.

"What sort of deal?"

"There's nothing you particularly want?" _Emma_. The name shot straight to the front of his mind, shouting and waving its arms. But if he (who could leave Storybrooke) couldn't do it, what chance did Gold have?

He alone was left to be the Hero. So, "A sword." Gold's face didn't noticeably change, but Henry got the impression it wasn't the answer he expected.

"A… sword. I hear they can be rather sharp, lad. Dangerous." Henry couldn't subdue the urge to roll his eyes.

"You asked me what I wanted."

"So I did. And it just so happens that I have a sword in my little pawnshop, waiting for the right person to come along and wield it."

"You never give anything away for free."

"True. You have nothing I particularly want, and I doubt you want to let your mother know about it." Gold stared of into the distance, and Henry had to admire the little theatrical touches the man inserted into his conversations, "It seems I'm doing you a favour. So, if I get this sword for you, you will owe me a favour in return. Deal?" Henry though it over, trying to decide if a _real_ sword was worth being indebted to the mysterious tycoon.

"Nothing_ too_ illegal." Gold smirked at him, eyes sparking with humour. From his expression, he must have heard about Henry's "little misadventure", as Regina called it whenever it was brought up.

"Nothing too illegal? Alright then, the deal is struck." Gold held out his hand to Henry, and they shook on it. Even though there was no magic here, Henry felt_ something_ fizz at the action, a frisson as the future seemed to meld itself into one where he would complete some favour for Gold (or whoever Gold used to be). Now that he had a guarantee, Henry relaxed, only now noticing all the moisture in his mouth seemed to have fled to his palms. He took a sip from the plastic cup, the bubbles fizzing down his throat and invigorating him.

"When can I see it?"

"Hmm," Gold made a show of considering the question, cane twirling between his fingers, "Your mother will be suspicious of our conversation, but Wednesday will be long enough to calm her worries of nefarious plans. Come to my shop then, and I will have your sword ready." He pushed himself upright with his cane and walked off without another word, as carelessly confident as always. Henry wondered (as he did whenever he saw the man) how the Evil Queen could have let someone like Gold become so powerful, when she wanted control of this world. Something niggled at the back of Henry's mind, something about being rich, having an estate (it looked pretty sweet, even if it _was_ pink)… But it was a mystery for another day, one that wasn't his birthday.

Now that Gold had left, the other kids dared to approach Henry and pull him into their game. For a few hours, he let himself joke around and play silly games. Gold could wait. Henry would enjoy his birthday. he would let the adults be the ones to worry.

(Henry would let himself feel like a kid again.)

* * *

**I'm not sure if Henry's birthday is given an exact date in the series, so I made one up. Incidentally, does anyone know when Emma's birthday is?**

**Concerning the organisation of the "Once Upon A Time" storybook: The main storyline focuses a lot on the relationship between Snow and Charming, and the child they have, the Saviour. So I decided the book, designed to tip people off and make the curse easier to break, would start at the beginning of that saga; Regina rescuing Snow, and the moment she meets the doom of her true love, which sparks off her quest for revenge. Rumple would not want his own history revealed, and would not )despite what he claims) know everything. I'm also assuming he was responsible for planting the book, but if not, it doesn't really impact the story overmuch.**


	3. Chapter Three

**Love for all my reviewers! Special thanks to BostonYankee and baaelfire for the dating advice. ;P**

* * *

The next few days were sheer torture for Henry.

True to Gold's prediction, Regina cornered him and he told her some fib of the man asking after Regina's plans for the next monthly Council meeting, where _every_one got together to propose their big, contentious ideas. She seemed torn between suspecting Gold and suspecting Henry (she would have never thought of them collaborating), but decided to keep her complaints to herself either way, and Henry let out the breath he'd been holding. She didn't bother him about it after that, and even her assessing glances petered off after a few days (on Monday he'd caught the tail end of her accusing Gold of trying to subvert her son).

He apologised to Miss Blanchard on Regina's behalf (she didn't buy it for a minute), and told her (secretly, of course) about his trade with Mr. Gold. She _hmm_ed warily and cautioned him to be careful, but seemed happy to see him so excited, and promised to let him show her his sword once he had it.

Henry was going to become a real Knight, now, and he'd get to save everyone (he'd _have_ to save everyone).

~O~

Henry woke up early Wednesday morning feeling refreshed, the secret of the sword warming him deep inside (today today today). He dressed and breakfasted, running through the day's activities in his head. He would need to go to school, but if he told Regina he was going to the arcade, she'd let him be for long enough to go to the pawnshop.

It was only when he caught himself in a daydream of swinging a mighty sword, slaying some imaginary dragon-Regina, that he realised he didn't have a clue how to use the sword after he'd acquired it.

He'd need to find a book on swordplay.

Henry's thoughts briefly brushed over the disappointingly ever-closed library, wondering why Regina would possibly give the town a library but keep it closed. He considered breaking down the flimsy-looking boards to get into it, but the thought of what might be hidden behind those decrepit timbers deterred him. Rats, gaping sinkholes, bloodthirsty but well-read demons. No thank you.

Henry dressed and breakfasted in haste, as though rushing now would make the school day go by faster. Regina, steam curling from her mug of black coffee (she liked it dark and bitter), leaned against the bench and eyed him critically. He squirmed in his seat, avoiding her eyes to stare down his orange juice while he swallowed his last bite of toast.

"Something wrong, Henry?"

"What? No. The Arcade!" Henry blurted out the first thing to come to his mind, sending a prayer of thanks that it wasn't anything incriminating (he could only imagine her reaction of he'd blurted out "sword"). "They've fixed the two-person Shooter and I wanted to try it out, it's supposed to be really good. It's free, too. Please," he wheedled, only half lying. He had heard about the game's many virtues from the other boys (and some of the girls) in his class, and a part of him wanted to try it out (not as much as he wanted his sword, though).

His mother stared at him, expression softening as she observed his clasped hands and slight pout. After a few moments she sighed and shook her head, smiling to herself.

"Alright. You'll probably be raving about that game only until the next one comes along, but if it's so good, then you're welcome to stay back. Only for a few hours, though, yes?"

Henry didn't hear the last part, too busy throwing himself at her, wrapping his arms around her and being careful not to upset the mug in her hand. She placed the mug beside her and returned the hug after a moment, her arms tight about his shoulders.

"Thanks, mum." He caught a stricken look on her face as let go, beaming at her. Maybe after the trade, he'd actually go over there (he really _was _grateful, she didn't have to).

Henry looked back at her as he shouldered his bag and finished tying his shoes. She still leaned there, eyes closed as if her thoughts pained her. He felt bad, even though she was he Evil Queen, that she was sad. Even though he didn't understand it, he walked over to her, touching her arm with his fingertips. She opened her eyes to look at him, and they swum with tears.

"Thanks. Really. I'll see you this afternoon?"

Regina managed a watery smile and nodded. She placed a hand on his head and ran her fingers tenderly through his hair, ruffling it slightly.

"Of course, son."

~O~

Henry wandered down the street after school, feet scuffing against the pavement. The day was bright and the skies clear, but he felt a storm brewing, and not necessarily the rainy kind.

The infamous pawn shop loomed into view, the dread incited by the place seeming all the worse for its lack of size, much like its owner.

Henry entered the building, the bell overhead chiming a welcome, disparate from the store's aura of malevolence.

Gold promptly emerged from the back of the shop, a dust rag held in his hand.

"Hi, Mister Gold."

"Welcome, young Henry." The boy in question braved the shadows of the gloomy shop to stare about in wonder. He had never actually had a reason to be in the shop, and the range of treasures fascinated him (except for the puppets. His gaze jerked away by itself and his body shuddered without his permission when he spied them). A delicate glass mobile dangled from the ceiling, sending white and blue flecks around the room. An old wooden spinning wheel, the sort people turned by hand and foot, sat alone in one corner, spool half-filled. A set of silver pan-pipes on a shelf, next to a bejewelled bird with miniscule golden gears showing through its crystal breast. A veritable host of magical items gathered in a single dragon's hoard, and each one had a story (he'd bet Gold knew them all, too).

He turned from his perusal to watch Gold, who still stood behind the counter, although he'd put the rag away, and was watching Henry expectantly, a barely perceptible smirk on his lips.

Henry had to hold in an impatient foot stamp when Gold let the silence drag on. He didn't think he'd moved, but Gold's smirk grew into a grin. Silently.

Henry broke the stalemate first.

"Have you got it?" The grin gave way to a chuckle. Gold stepped away from the counter, cane tapping on the hard wooden floors as he walked over to an old wooden barrel, the sort that would have once held wine.

Now it held swords.

Dark-steeled broad-swords with plain, functional handles. Silvery rapiers with handguards tooled and gleaming. Leaf-bladed short-swords and notched sabres with their curving backs. The array was dazzling, and Henry reached forwards before he consciously selected a blade (look at them all, one of them's _mine_). A long-fingered hand stopped his, pushing it back.

"Ah-ah. Safety first." Henry turned his gaze obediently to Gold's face. "Keep it covered when you're not using it, don't grab the pointy end with your hands, and do try not to actually stick anyone with it. It would be such a shame if something happened to our esteemed Mayor." Gold's grin was toothy and dangerous, but Henry couldn't help but return it (such a shame). Gold seemed to take that as agreement, for he stepped back and gave an elaborate gesture, swishing his crooked fingers over the multitude of weapons.

Henry stepped forwards eagerly, carefully separating the blades, pulling likely ones out. He stopped when he saw an impressive longsword, and reverence filled him at the sight. Its hilt was a burnished gold, with a scalloped pommel and delicately curving cross-guard. He pulled it out from the barrel and drew it from the scabbard, the blade gleaming and sharp in the muted light of the pawnshop.

Prince Charming's sword.

It was _his_ sword (really, truly _his_). The blade was too long for Henry's child's stature, and the weight dragged unpleasantly on his untrained arms, but he knew then it was the one he _needed_. He turned his head to look at Gold, who assessed the blade appreciatively.

"This one." Henry said.

"Well, then, if you're sure?" Henry nodded resolutely, turning his whole body to face the pawnbroker, sword and scabbard in each hand. "Woah there, lad. Unless you mean to slay them, I'd not point it at anyone like that." (_Oops_) Henry clumsily sheathed it, taking the belt and looping it around his hand to give him something to hold onto.

"One of my finest swords. If you know how to use it." Henry had the feeling Gold had exactly the book Henry would need.

"And you've got a way of teaching me."

Gold nodded amiably, and waked over to a tall, narrow bookcase, where he selected a thick book, the faded gold lettering contrasting brightly with the dark leather cover. He thumped it onto the counter in front of Henry (the dust that swirled from the pages was dust from another world), and named the price, although Henry couldn't see one marked anywhere. He wondered if Gold knew _every_thing about _every_ item in his store.

"That's pretty expensive." Henry said, and tried to keep his face blank. Despite his casual attitude, Henry knew it would drain his funds to a painful degree.

"What can I say? A man's got to scrape by somehow. Everything has a price, if you're willing to pay. If not…" He began to draw the book back, and Henry gave an involuntary cry of dismay.

"I said it was expensive. But, well," Henry leaned closer, and lowered his voice as Gold leaned in too, "my mum's the mayor."

"Is she now?" Henry nodded solemnly.

"Yep. And she gives me _loads _of pocket money." Henry demonstrated this by pulling out the said cash and handing over enough to meet the price Gold had quoted. He was unable to withhold the wince as he did so.. Gold placed the notes in the cash register and slipped the docket between the pages of the book, then pushed it back over to Henry. He also pulled a canvas bag from beneath the counter, dangling it alluringly in front of Henry.

"Need this, perhaps? Madam Mayor would not be best pleased by seeing either of those items. With either you or me."

Henry dutifully wrapped the book and hid it in his backpack, covering it with his school books. He piled the sword into his arms, jostling it until it felt secure. He just hoped Regina wasn't home to ask him questions. Going to the arcade with a sword would just be asking for trouble.

"Thanks, Mister Gold."

"A pleasure doing business with you, Henry. Do drop by again." Henry waved as best he could and left the shop, feeling the warm afternoon breeze flow over him. The day was still worryingly bright, and Henry held the sword to his side, walking as casually as he could manage. Maybe he could pass it off as an oddly-shaped umbrella if anyone asked?

Henry kept a furtive eye out for inquisitive souls as he paced quickly along the footpath, the excitement of owning a _proper_ sword swelling in his throat and heart. He longed to try it out, and couldn't resist ducking into the canopy of trees as he passed the park, their cool shade entreating him.

The dark green foliage hid him from the few kids and adults in the park, and he was able to strap the scabbard about his waist once he looped it onto itself. He drew the sword once again (more gracefully this time, like a prince should), marvelling over the design. Dappled light gleamed along the blade, momentarily blinding him, and he tilted it away and gave the sword an experimental swing. It cut the air with a low hum, and sheer delight filled him, raw and primal (this sword is mine. I am dangerous). That was, until the blade's momentum halted with a _thud_ that jarred him to his shoulders, knocking his hands from the hilt. Henry stared in confusion at his empty palms before he noticed the blade had bitten deeply into the trunk of a nearby tree, and hung in place, quivering slightly.

Henry blushed (even though there was nobody to see it but him), and hastily jerked the sword out, glancing around and half-expecting someone to jump out of the bushes and denounce him as a false prince. He laughed to himself and shook his head. Gold was the only one who knew about it, and he wouldn't be jumping out of anywhere with that limp.

Henry placed the sword down so that he could get out the instruction book, flipping through to look at the hand-drawn diagrams of partners trading blows. He placed it to the side of the small clearing, propped up and open with his bag, and gathered the sword. He held the long grip with both hands. He was a prince, the grandson of _the _Prince Charming and Snow White, so this _would _be easy for him to learn.

Henry spent the next half hour futilely trying to follow a single technique. As soon as he had his feet right, his body would be out of line. Once he'd fixed himself up, he'd find his grip on the sword was wrong. He'd get that right and try to make the cut like the book said, only to find his feet had shifted back out of place, leaving him without a sword, or more often sprawled on the increasingly bruised grass.

When Henry dropped the heavy weapon out of pure physical exhaustion (he nearly took his own foot off in the process), he decided that it would be safer for both him and the local flora if he called it a day. He repacked the book and sheathed the sword, but had to carry it because it dragged along the ground when he wore it as a belt.

Despite the limitations to his trade, he left he'd gotten a good deal out of the still-unidentified pawnbroker. Gold hadn't _had_ to show him the book (although the sale wouldn't hurt him), and he'd not stopped Henry from taking the sword, even though he was legally a minor. He was (_technically_), but Henry decided he was allowed some leeway because he need to break the Curse to end all Curses, and that was hard to do when you were a kid. He just hoped the price wasn't too high. Everyone paid the price for their deals with Gold. The thought stirred up a familiar and oft-repeated line from The Book.

_All magic comes with a price._

Henry stumbled, caught himself, dropped the sword and still managed to tumble onto the grass beside the footpath, but he didn't notice any of it (_all magic comes with a price_).

Oh, how could he have been so blind!

It all fit. Spinning straw into _Gold_, making deals everyone came to regret ever making, the fear he inspired in the townsfolk.

Mr. Gold was Rumplestiltskin.

Henry's mind buzzed with the revelation, but he was conscious enough of his surroundings to gather up his sword and bag, brush off the loose grass (there was no avoiding the stains), and set out back for home.

Regina's car wasn't by the curb or in the driveway, and Henry sent up a silent prayer at that small boon. He raced up to his room and hid the thick leather manual under his wardrobe, where the feet and panels left a small, hidden space below the actual wardrobe. It was shadowed and invisible unless you actually reached under and felt with your hand, and the Evil Queen would never think to look there for anything.

The sword was more of a problem. It was far too long to hide under the wardrobe, but Henry's bed wasn't safe enough and he didn't want to chance hiding it in the detritus of his room in case his mum decided that a bout of spring cleaning was in order.

In the end he followed his original pretence, shoving it into the folds of his long black umbrella and hoping the hilt merely looked like an oddly-shaped handle. He propped it back behind the door, where Regina was unlikely to be looking for anything.

With the sword and manual taken care of, Henry could return his thoughts to the man who had traded them to him. Rumplestiltskin. The Dark One, most feared of sorcerers, and the man who taught Regina all she knew. Henry had made a literal deal with the Devil.

He ran his mind over all he knew, trying to determine how much more dangerous his deal had suddenly become. Oddly, Gold and Rumplestiltskin didn't have very different policies. They both kept to the exact letter of the deal (both a blessing and a curse), and those who dealt with Rumplestiltskin usually decided they had been better off before. He was much like the malevolent genies in Arabian fairytales, who twisted your words and made you regret asking for anything at all.

With some surprise, Henry concluded he wasn't much worse off now that he knew Gold's identity, especially since there was no magic in this land (not that that was much of a relief). He sighed ruefully, still wondering how he had missed something so obvious.

~O~

Regina got home at around seven 'o' clock, and asked him about the new arcade game over their dinner of spag bol. Henry lied, forcing the enthusiasm into his voice and waxing lyrical about the superior graphics and realistic special effects. He admitted he'd been beaten more often than not, but that he'd get better with practice. Regina smiled indulgently and told him he could spend as much time there so long as he went to his sessions with Dr. Hopper and finished all his homework. She didn't suspect a thing. When she came in to ensure he was going to sleep, she never thought to look for contraband weapons behind his door, and Henry fell asleep with a smile on his face.

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**Rumple is so difficult to hear inside my head. Makes for stubborn dialogue.**

**Reviews = Love!**


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